Escape
by losing-him-is-blue
Summary: Effie begins to realise that things are changing. She knows her world is wrong, but doesn't know what to do. She feels scared and alone, so she turns to the one person who might understand her. Haymitch. This is my spin on how she handles the events of Catching Fire and Mockingjay, and what she is put through. Hayffie. (Rated M to be safe.)
1. Need

I wake with a start, shaking. My nightmare wasn't particularly terrible, probably just a glimpse into the future. However, it scares me that seeing Peeta, Katniss and Haymitch die in my dreams wakes me up in a cold sweat night after night, feeling utterly powerless. Other escorts don't seem to experience this, but then again they probably think nothing of having a victor, it isn't such a big deal for them as it is for 12. Yes that must be it. Nonetheless, I can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming.

On this summer night the train feels too stuffy, and the room that reminded me of home before now seems confining and alien. I need air.

As the train re-stocks, I have an hour of freedom around the border of District 7. I go out to the end carriage, the one where the windows fold away into the ceiling. The forest is very beautiful, the warm night air sweet and calming, but it's not enough just to look, I want to be part of it.

Checking that no-one's watching me, I hop off the end of the train. I begin making my way to a fallen tree a little while away, feeling the summer grass beneath my bare feet. I don't know why I'm suddenly so eager to explore this place, the thought of mud or bugs usually makes my skin crawl, but I guess I just want to feel something real. I sit on the mossy log, only a few hundred metres from the train, and curiously, I graze my fingers across its soft surface - the only soft things I encounter are usually man-made.

I try – unsuccessfully - to organise the jumble of thoughts and feelings in my head. Everything seems so confusing nowadays, and I can't tell what the right thing is for me anymore. I close my eyes and hope to lose myself in relaxation like I can at the spa back home.

It's nice to be still like this, with no city noise or music or chatter, just the sounds of nature and night animals. How different it is to what I'm familiar with, yet at the minute it is preferable to everything I'm used to.

At the sound of a bottle smashing, I jump, my eyes flying open just in time to witness another being hurled from the train. I roll my eyes as I wonder what Haymitch's latest rampage is about. He clumsily navigates his way off the little platform, a third bottle in his hand. He doesn't seem to have spotted me yet, which is odd as he usually has his wits about him, but right now he looks distracted by something. He ploughs forwards, shouting obscenities. To be honest, I'm hardly surprised to see him in this state. He had promised Katniss and Peeta that he would stay sober for them, but obviously that's too hard for him to cope with now, after nearly twenty years of alcohol abuse.

He suddenly stops in front of me, stands up straighter - studying me. The look of anger in his features is replaced by one of intense confusion. He doesn't seem to recognize me, which is hardly surprising since I am only in my nightgown.

"Well, your sobriety didn't last long," I say. There is a flicker of recognition in his eyes before his brows knit together again. He continues to stare at me and I begin to feel quite nervous.

"You know it's rude to stare." I remind him. This seems to make the penny drop.

His eyes narrow. "Why are you out here?" He asks, although it's more like an accusation.

"Couldn't sleep" I say quickly, hoping he'll drop the subject but knowing he probably won't. He wants to know why I'm out here in the dark when I could be in a warm, comfortable bed, like most Capitol citizens would be at this hour. I don't think I'm like most Capitol citizens anymore.

"They have pills for that, sweetheart" he replies, not missing a beat. His snarky response annoys me enormously. He might think that I'm lying to him, but it should be clear that this is none of his business.

My eyes narrow to match his. "They didn't work" I say coldly, plainly telling him to drop it.

As he just continues to frown at me, I change the subject myself. "So, what is it this time?" I ask. Like I care. He's always angry about something these days and since he so often brushed aside my early concerns for his feelings, I rarely bother to ask now.

He flops down next to me and grunts, taking a swig from his bottle.

"Same old," He says nonchalantly, avoiding the question.

He turns to glower at me again.

"What?" I demand angrily after a few minutes. This man has a habit of getting under my skin, so much so that I pretty much disregard all decent behaviour when we speak.

He stays silent and looks me up and down with those hard eyes. I start to feel uneasy, so I cross my arms and look away, trying to shield myself from his accusing stare.

He takes another long drink. "You look better like that," he says quietly.

I can feel the frown on my face as I try to follow his thought processes – he changes the conversation so quickly. I move to straighten my wig before remembering that I'm not wearing one. No make-up either.

I realise that Haymitch has never seen me like this before. I feel so exposed.

"What do you mean 'better'?" I ask.

This can't be better, I'm not trying. Everyone says I look bland without make-up; the rule in the Capitol is '_more_ = better' be it colour, accessories or corrective surgery.

He eyes the bottle in his hands, "More human." He says softly.

I can feel a blush colouring my cheeks. I find it weird to think that he has not only been paying attention to how I look, but actually has an opinion on the matter. The way he said it sounded like approval and the fact that his eyes are busy confirms this for me. I find this oddly flattering, but for some reason I don't really want to accept his 'compliment'. I don't want to experience the warm feeling currently welling up in my chest, the small smile on my face, because I can feel myself softening towards Haymitch. And that troubles me.

Obviously I do care for him – to a certain extent – but we have a love/hate relationship, each existing to keep the other in check. I cannot let that change now, especially with the Capitol watching us like a hawk. I will not give them another excuse to get angry with us, no matter how lonely or vulnerable I feel. I decide to act as I usually would.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask sharply. I deliberately raise my chin; behave as I would when scolding him for bad manners at a formal event.

For a split-second he looks slightly torn before an empty look fills his eyes. He gives a short, unpleasant laugh and says with his usual drunken malice "Doesn't matter sweetheart, I didn't expect you to understand."

Even though I know I shouldn't, I let that one slide. Usually I would rebuke him for being so patronizing, but at the moment I just don't care. He can think what he likes about my intellect; if I try to respond now it will come out wrong and he's already suspicious.

I look away, blatantly showing that he is unwelcome, but he carries on.

"So, why are you out here?" He asks again, eyeing me sideways.

"I told you," I say, still hoping to avoid the question, "can't sleep."

Haymitch just looks at me and I know he's not going to let this go. I sigh, resigning. "Nightmares." I say simply.

I wait for him to respond, but he just nods, unconcerned, and takes another drink. I feel like smacking the bottle away from him. He's obviously interested, but now he just sits there, more involved in the alcohol than the person in front of him. I decide to carry on; see if that'll make him acknowledge me.

"It was Katniss and Peeta." I say. Nothing. "It's so awful; they only just got out of the arena and now they have to go back." Still nothing. As I confess what I saw, the true tragedy of it all begins to really dawn on me for the first time.

"It's not fair." I murmur, more to myself than him at this point.

I barely whisper the last part, but suddenly I have his attention. He gives a bitter laugh, and I glare at him, waiting for an explanation.

"And how would you know what's fair, Princess?" He asks spitefully. I try not to be offended by that comment and act to ignore him, waiting for his usual rant about the Capitol and how we're all the same – selfish, stuck up. However, I am not prepared for his next words or how deep they cut me.

"Just because they're your little victors," he spits at me. "Just because they won't come back this time and you're afraid you'll lose all your fancy Capitol privileges. You don't care about them, Princess, not really."

My mouth drops open at his audacity. I'm used to the Capitol being a problem for him, I know he likes to annoy me, but this is just too far. He doesn't know anything about my feelings towards Katniss or Peeta, so how can he come up with something as dreadful as this and deliver it like a divine truth?!

As I stare at him, he leans in and whispers with a cruel smile "Nightmares? What, did your salary get cut?"

For an instant I feel hurt, and he seems to see that this time he might've gone too far. But it's too late now. His words are out and my upset abruptly turns to outrage as I jump to my feet. Suddenly I'm shouting at him.

"Of course I care about them, which is more than I can say for you!" I yell, furious. "I've always helped them, every year I support the tributes, what the hell do you do?! Sit around drunk, spreading your misery!" This time I do hit the bottle away. It flies a few feet before smashing dramatically on the ground.

I'm startled by my actions and for a second, even he looks shocked by the intensity of my anger, but he swiftly stands, towering over me.

"What you do doesn't help." He responds fiercely. His hand clamps down on mine, easily wrapping around my wrist, forcing me to face him as he holds me there in a vice-like grip. "They're already dead, so why pretend otherwise? We know how it's going to end." He says with finality.

"But we don't Haymitch, they could win!" I shout, wrenching my wrist from his iron grasp. "Someone has to, and last time it was them." I turn to the train, emphasizing my point. "They won and they lived." I say plainly, spinning to face him again.

He's back on the log, watching me with a small smirk, like I've missed something totally obvious. I just glare back at him.

After a while he sighs and says tiredly, "Sometimes, sweetheart, the living part is worse."

So that's it then. Since I've effectively already killed the tributes by reaping them, he sees no point in even trying. They all lose either way. Just like Katniss and Peeta. Somehow they won their games, but it's only brought them more trouble. Haymitch is right, of course.

I continue to stare blankly for a long time as his words sink in.

Eventually I focus on him, and his eyes – those deep grey eyes – hold mine. In them I see so much pain, so much hostility and a fire I know he is trying hard to contain. But he can't hide it. Under all the sarcasm and the drunken maliciousness, it's always there. Burning. And this is worse, so much worse than when he lets it out. Because I can see just how much he really does care. How much he hates what has been done to these children – what has been done to him. And how much he hates those involved.

The fight goes out of me as the implications hit home. It doesn't matter what I do or what I say, he will always associate me with the killing of innocent children. With the killing of his family.

I want to make it right, but what can I say?

"I know." I finally respond.

"No Princess, you don't know how easy you've got it." he says with a look of disgust on his face.

The anger rises up again as I try to defend myself. "Do you really think this is easy for me?!" I snap. Big rain drops begin to land around us, but I barely notice. "It's hard enough to know that everyone hates me for doing a job that I have come to despise," I hiss, "but knowing that at any moment, everything I hold dear could disappear like that." I click my fingers. "That's not easy!"

In the back of my mind, it registers that what I just said was potentially very dangerous for me, however I dismiss the thought almost as quickly. There can't be cameras out here, and I'm past the point of caring about what I say anymore.

"So you're saying that because you're from the Capitol, you deserve more than me." He says simply.

"I don't mean that!" I shout, beyond frustrated. "I'm just trying to point out that you're not the only one who's been in this situation." I try to catch my breath and calm down, but to no avail. The longer he watches me, the angrier I get. "You're convinced that you have it the worst, that no-one will ever understand. If you could just-"

"And you think that if you act like everything's fine, then it will be. You think you know fear, but you don't. I don't care what you say; at worst all you have is a threat." He moves closer, staring down at me. I think this is the closest I've ever got to feeling scared of Haymitch. "You don't know anything, Trinket."

There's a long silence as I try – and fail – to ignore what he said. Because it's true. I don't know anything about what he's been through, or what is to come. My anger dissipates, fear quickly filling the void. I never know what's coming next.

"No." I agree. I feel grateful for the now heavy rain hoping it will conceal the tears that threaten to spill over. For a while, I refuse to meet his eyes, and I wonder why it's taking him so long to insult me. He is still standing straight over me but after a few minutes, when I finally do look up at him, his eyes seem too grey.

I take a deep breath, hoping to get the words right. "I understand, it's their fault, and I'm one of them. I don't blame you if you hate me, but…" But what? I trail off as I try to think of an ending to that sentence, knowing I won't find one. I watch the rain form puddles on the floor, feel it run down my face and my arms, soaking me. There's no way to make this right. Not now.

"I don't hate you, Effie." He says very quietly.

I glimpse up at him. I want to believe him but he looks so drained - I really can't tell if there's honesty in his eyes. All I see is pain.

"I think you do." I barely whisper.

"Do you hate me?" He shoots back.

Do I hate him? We have our differences - that much is certain - and obviously Haymitch frequently irritates me, but we've been together so long. He's never tried to hurt me, not really.

"No." I decide. "But that doesn't change anything. How many times have we been down this road? We never get anywhere, just piss each other off and I don't think I can take it anymore." I admit.

He doesn't seem like he's going to remark on what I said, so I look towards the train, trying to figure out if I actually want to go back or not.

I don't realise how cold I am until I feel Haymitch's hand on my arm, moving me closer to the forest. I jump at his touch, but when I face him he has already turned away.

"Come on." He says, walking in the direction of the trees. Without thinking, I follow him away from the train.

We come to a stop under a big pine tree. Beneath all its needles, the trunk is barely wet, no rain penetrating the ground at its base. I join him where he leans against the tree, wanting to keep my distance but too cold to resist. I assume we're done talking, and I'm content to stand in silence waiting out the shower. I would've thought that he's probably too mad to even look at me right now, so his next words come as a surprise.

"I'm not angry with you Effie, not really," he says. I turn to face him, uncomprehending, but he's looking past me now. As I try to read in his face what the words aren't telling me, his brows knit together and he once more becomes completely absorbed in fury. "But, what they did... I still can't…" He trails off, hands balling into fists. He takes a few breaths to calm down, still looking away.

"I let them down." He says finally. His eyes are glazed over and it's like he's not even talking to me anymore. "I promised I'd look after them, I thought I could protect them… but I didn't. It's all my fault and they're dead because of me." Haymitch's voice becomes detached – emotionless.

His honesty stuns me and for a long time I can't think of what to say. Of course it wasn't his fault, but me saying that would be of no comfort to him. His eyes look almost completely vacant, no anger or spark like there had been a moment ago.

Without thinking, I reach my hand up to his cheek. My touch brings him back to the present immediately and his eyes examine my features. I brush away the stray raindrops as they find a path down his face. We stand like that for a long time before he gently removes my hand. I drop my eyes, certain that he will walk off at any second, but he moves closer to me, holding my hand against his chest. I look up and find his face very close to mine. Those sorrowful grey eyes bore right into me.

"I'm sorry." He whispers softly.

In his words is everything I've ever needed to hear. After all this time, all the fights and arguments we've had, but really there's no hate there. Not for each other.

"Me too." I sigh.

There's nothing remotely romantic between me and Haymitch, but there's always been chemistry. With two people as strong willed as us – particularly in this current situation – we are bound to either rip each other's throats out or come together as one mind. Something had to give, and I know that what happens next is inevitable.

I lean into him, our lips finally meeting as we fall apart. My hands grab onto his shirt, tugging at his collar as I feel his own arms wind around my waist, his hands on my back pulling me closer to him. His lips move with mine, the kiss surprisingly soft, not angry or forceful but slow and gentle. He tastes like wine and tears, rain and sorrow.

As much as I know that this is wrong – maybe even forbidden – I know this is what I want. I want to be here with Haymitch as we each satisfy the other's need for comfort.

I want to stay in this moment forever, quiet and undisturbed with the one person that really does understand what I'm going through. For so much time I've felt alone, but now, finally I feel safe.

However, nothing lasts forever, and before long Haymitch has to come up for air. Too soon. I pull him back to me, desperate to stretch this out for as long as possible. Never in my life have I allowed myself to just feel emotions; without rules or protocol. I need him.

"Don't stop." I breathe.

I don't realise that I'm crying until the tears reach our lips. I hope to sustain the kiss but Haymitch holds me back, trying to get a look at my face. I think how petty I must seem to him, barely able to keep myself steady when I finally realise how bad things could be. How long has he known this and never said a word? Probably his whole life.

"Oh, Effie" His voice seems so sad and he looks older than ever.

I feel so small.

My breathing starts to become shallow but I work for control – I can't allow myself to cry in front of him. "What's going to happen to all of us?" I hold onto his arms to anchor myself but the tears keep coming.

After a long pause he finally says "I don't know."

I almost break at his words. It's obvious by the look on his face that whatever happens, it's not going to be good.

"So what do we do?" I ask him, although I'm fairly certain I know what he'll say.

"Nothing, just …" he pauses to sigh, "keep going."

I want to ask how, but somehow I know that the answer won't help me.

I don't want to do this anymore.

"I don't think I can." I murmur, looking down.

"Effie," he says gently, gripping my shoulders. "You have to, sweetheart. It's the only thing that'll keep you safe."

"But I'm not-" he interrupts my protests.

"It's too late to stop now," He says firmly. "As far as they're concerned, nothing has changed – not yet. I know you're not like them, but you have a role to play, which means waiting for the correct time to do what's right."

I stare at him for a long time, waiting for the words to make sense. All I manage to grasp is that, for now, I have no choice but to keep up the pretence. At some point though, there will be a change. My mind keeps going in circles.

"How will I know… when?" I ask him.

"I'll tell you sweetheart." He promises. I move back into his arms, hoping he really will keep me safe. "I won't let you down." He says, determined.

So I was right then, something bad is coming. Something I'm not ready for, but will have to face nonetheless. Hopefully though, it's something I won't have to face alone.

Haymitch holds me for a long time. He's warm and comforting and familiar, and I lean in closer, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as if that will keep me stable.

After a while the rain begins to ease off.

"We should go back now." I say, but still cling to him.

He looks down at me and, after a few more minutes, gently unfurls my fingers from his shirt. Keeping hold of my left hand, Haymitch begins to lead the way back and I link my fingers through his. I trail a little, and as the train comes into view I abruptly drop his hand, stopping there.

He studies me for a long time before reaching out and placing the back of his callused hand against my cheek.

"You can do this." He says calm but sure, moving his hand under my chin to lift it. For a moment, a sad smile spreads across his face but he quickly turns and stumbles away, shouting and swearing once more.

I use the time it takes him to approach the platform to get it together. I must remember my role. I wipe away the last trace of tears whilst attempting to arrange my face into a mask of anger and annoyance.

After two deep breaths I march after Haymitch. Upon reaching the train, I see two Avoxes at the door, looking rather confused as he ploughs straight through them on the way to his room. They turn to look at me, as if for an explanation, and their eyes widen as they take in my bedraggled state.

Without him, I can feel myself falling apart again and I try desperately to find some words – any words –that might fit the situation.

"That man," I breathe harshly "is impossible. He's going to ruin everything!" I explode at them. One of them, the boy, reaches out, but I ignore his offer for help. I just have to get away from here without making them suspicious. I don't think I've ever had to try so hard to keep up a charade.

"If we _must_ stop another time, I want this train on lockdown." I lean into the words, "I am not having this again!" I say sharply.

I push past them, no time to check if they buy it, as the fear overwhelms me once more. I barely make it to my room before everything unravels.

I'm not sure how long it takes for me to calm down, but I'm guessing it has been some time, as the sun is just breaking the horizon when I finally rise from the floor.

A new day.

This is the time to repair any damage and, as I perfect my wig and make-up, I know the role I have to play.


	2. Overwhelmed

Over the past few days, things have only gone from bad to worse. I've tried to stay upbeat, but to be honest, I can't anymore. Katniss and Peeta seem to be doing their best to get a rise out of Snow and it's working. Since this Quarter Quell was announced, everything has just gone wrong.

The day of the training scores was particularly bad; it was the only time I broke since that night on the train. It was not just realising that the tributes are prepared to throw everything away, but the way they are willing to do it.

I can understand them being mad, but you do not show up the Gamemakers. Not like that. Katniss reminding everyone of Seneca's death… it was brash and risky. She will most likely pay for that in the arena - especially with the score they gave her.

I can't help thinking who else might meet a similar end because of what she did.

I take a shaky breath and try to remain composed. Tonight's the night of the interviews and there are cameras everywhere - now is not the time to get emotional.

The crowd is excited, and to be honest, if I wasn't so much a part of the games, I would probably be eager too. This is one of the biggest events in our history and it's easy to get caught up in the drama if you don't know what's really going on. But I know that tonight is vital; it will either help to subdue the whisperings of unrest in the districts, or just add fuel to the fire.

Eventually the lights go down and the interviews begin. Haymitch is rigid beside me, very different from so many years previous when he's been pretty much laying down in his seat. As far as I know, there's not a drop of alcohol in his system.

This reinforces my anxiety.

Everything starts off in the same way as usual, with Brutus and Enobaria chatting to Caesar like regular Careers. However as time progresses, the tension begins to build.

It is clear that the victors are very angry with the whole situation, but they are clever about what they say. Their words have such power, and before long the crowd is completely at their mercy. It seems the people didn't realise quite how attached they are to their victors. Now, as they see them sat on the stage, questioning the validity of being sent to almost certain death, they've changed their minds. Some shout, some cry, some actually faint when Finnick appears. The tributes have played Snow at his own game and practically commandeered the crowd.

As the interviews roll on, I feel more and more nervous. My whole body is shaking. I look over at Haymitch, who is still sat bolt upright, his eyes fixed on Seeder as she finishes her interview.

We have hardly spoken since that night on the train, only in front of the tributes really. It was a lapse, a one off, or at least that's what I tell myself. But as Chaff mounts the stage I make a choice.

Ordinarily I wouldn't be so bold, but what with everything else that's happened, I don't hesitate as I slide my hand into his and link our fingers. His lips tighten slightly, but I can't tell if it's because of me or because he is currently watching his oldest friend walk across the stage to discuss his own death.

I've never seen Haymitch as a comforting person, yet now, as I sit with my hand in his, I breathe a little easier. I don't know why, but I think he is the only person I could feel safe with at the moment. It feels right to seek help from him, to confide in and reach out to him. Because we know each other. I know what he's like, how he thinks. I know he'll always be there. If I've learned anything, it's that I can trust him.

I almost feel bad for being so totally reliant on him, but he doesn't push me away. Maybe because, right now, he needs someone too. As scared as I am, I can't imagine how difficult this is for him. Despite what he thinks, he still has people he can lose.

Chaff's interview is over fairly quickly but by the time Katniss is introduced, the audience is in a terrible state. The sight of her in her wedding dress just about pushes them over the edge.

This is it.

As Caesar tries to quiet the crowd, my eyes lose focus. I grip Haymitch's hand tighter and he squeezes mine in return, but I can't seem to concentrate on anything. Katniss says something about the wedding, the dress, but I don't hear it. She begins to spin in her gown and at first I think it's my vision going as I start seeing black clouds rise up around her. But it's not me.

Her dress is on fire.

Except it's not. Black smoke fills the air and pearls fall to the floor, rolling off the stage as the dress dissolves. Some people in the audience scream. I probably would if I wasn't so stunned. It's only when she stops turning that I see what she has become.

Cinna has turned her into a mockingjay. This doesn't mean much to me but the change in Haymitch is unmistakeable. He glances sharply at Cinna and grasps my hand much tighter. Cinna doesn't notice though because he's bowing to the crowd, who are thrilled if slightly puzzled.

I don't understand what's happened, but by the look on Haymitch's face, I know it's significant. It can't be good.

As the audience calms down, Peeta takes his place next to Caesar. For the majority of his interview I barely listen. Peeta has always got on well with Caesar so there's nothing to worry about really and right now they're just picking up from where Katniss left off, talking about the wedding that won't come.

I can't stop thinking about Katniss' dress, the mockingjay, and what it could stand for. How bad can it be? I keep glimpsing at Haymitch, trying to get his attention as he obviously knows what this is about, but he doesn't look back. I begin to feel very uneasy.

There's a small laugh from the audience that brings me to my senses. What's going on? I try to focus on Peeta's words.

"Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?" he asks.

"I feel quite certain of it," Caesar replies.

The audience is silent – completely enthralled. What does he mean, 'keep a secret'?

"We're already married." Peeta says quietly.

What? They got married?!

Much like me, everyone is completely astonished by Peeta's words. I look to Haymitch, confused. He gives me a similar perplexed look, so I assume this is news to him too.

As Caesar carries on questioning Peeta, trying to get some details, sadness overcomes me.

Their story is so tragic; they never get to just be together. They have had everything taken from them. Now I can almost understand why they acted the way they did during training.

"I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together." Caesar says. I suppose that is true. Applause erupts around us but Peeta still looks sad. A shot of Katniss shows us that she too has tears in her eyes.

"I'm not glad. I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially." Peeta sounds like he's about to cry. What does he mean?

"Surely even a brief time is better than no time?" Caesar asks, as surprised as the rest of us.

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Peeta cuttingly, "if it weren't for the baby."

It takes a second for me to process this information, but then everything recedes as the appalling, horrific words sink in.

An icy sensation takes hold in my stomach and I fight the urge to scream.

I forget where I am, who I am.

It can't be true, can't be.

This can't happen.

Suddenly, I am pulled to my feet. Before I can protest, Haymitch has led me out of the stands. No one notices us leave, the Peacekeepers too preoccupied with the wailing crowd to see us slip away.

He leads me further and further beneath the building until we come to an area completely devoid of life. I feel sick.

He turns abruptly, grabbing me by the shoulders.

"It's time," he says.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. How has everything gone so badly wrong in such a short space of time?

"Did you hear me Effie?" He asks, a little less intense. When I don't answer, he moves me, sitting me down on something so I can lean against the wall.

I can't think… I can't get past the terrible images in my mind.

"She's not…?" It's all I can get out.

When he doesn't say anything, I try to find a way to focus on his face. Eventually I meet his tortured eyes.

"I don't know," he says, defeated.

"Oh god," I whisper, covering my face with my hands.

I can't be a part of this. I won't.

It's inhuman.

"Effie, look at me." I feel his hands on my wrists; gently uncovering my face. He's bent down to my level. "There's no time." He sounds almost desperate. As if to prove his point, the anthem starts up above us, signalling the end of the interviews.

"Surely they can't still go ahead with this." I gasp, appalled. His face is like thunder.

"Have they ever cancelled the Games before, sweetheart?" There's an almost sarcastic edge to his voice. Is he angry with me?

I refuse to meet his eyes. If he didn't have hold of me, I would move away completely.

"No… but isn't this different?" I ask doubtfully.

He sighs tiredly.

"The only reason people care is because they feel like they own that baby too." I wonder if this is a dig at me, or just Capitol people in general. He can't be cruel enough to start this now can he?

"It's just one more innocent child, one more life taken. And it's not something Snow hasn't done a thousand times before," he continues. "I know it's awful," he says slowly, "but really, it's nothing new."

I suppose he's right. The cold, hard truth and yet knowing this doesn't make anything easier.

It's all inhuman.

At first he waits for me to respond, but when I say nothing he lets go of my hands. I think that he's irritated with me, that he's going to walk off and leave me down here. Fine. I'm not going back anyway.

"I want you to take this." I look up just in time to see him move a gold bangle out from under the cuff of his left sleeve. The flame bracelet that I got him.

I reach out to it, winding it around and around on his wrist. The fact that Haymitch is wearing it means more than he could ever say in words.

"Why?" I ask as he unfastens it.

There's a pause.

He doesn't look up as he clips it into place on my arm, pulling my sleeve to cover it.

"Just promise me you'll keep it on," he murmurs, almost silent. He's still looking down.

I stare at him for slightly too long, trying to search his face for something that will tell me what he's thinking. His eyes meet mine and I find myself getting lost. I can see his pain, his sadness, but there's something else there… knowledge? Need?

"Okay," I agree without thinking.

"Okay," he says resolutely, standing. I don't know what significance a simple bracelet can possibly have but he seems slightly relieved.

"Time to go sweetheart."

No.

No, I want to tell him to stop, that I won't go; I can't be a part of this.

But the words don't come.

He starts to walk off but I don't move. He comes back and takes my hand, gently but firmly leading me up the stairs. I follow mindlessley, like a child.

As we arrive back in the lobby, it becomes apparent that all hell has broken loose. There are people everywhere; crying, screaming, shouting. Peacekeepers try to shove through the crowd but they don't make much progress. The anthem is still blaring. We stand and watch as more and more people flood out of the – now dark - stalls, followed by yet more Peacekeepers.

I clutch Haymitch's arm tightly as he begins to push through the people. We're about halfway to the elevators when two Peacekeepers accost us.

"All citizens have to return to their homes." One of them says. I stare at his eyes beneath his helmet. They show no emotion, absolutely none. No compromise. I know he's telling me to do something significant, but I can't process what he says. Everything seems to be in slow motion.

"Move." He commands sharply, obviously fed up of me staring at him. The other one grabs me by my upper arm, pulling me. As I stumble, I lose my grip on Haymitch. He steps forward but the first Peacekeeper moves to block him.

"Mentors must go back to the training centre." He states curtly. Haymitch stares the Peacekeeper down, eyes blazing and, for a moment, I'm scared he'll do something rash and get us into trouble. But I should know he's too clever to do anything like that, and after a minute, he turns back to me.

The fire is gone and his eyes are just empty grey once more.

"I'll call you." He promises. He looks at the guards for a second longer before turning swiftly and walking away from me.

The force increases on my arms as they march me out of the building. I try to retain my dignity, keep my head up, but the pressure is more than unpleasant. I glance back to where Haymitch was, but I can't see him anymore.

He's gone.

A strangled sound escapes me and it takes all my energy to stay upright, never mind maintain the pace of the two Peacekeepers.

"Hurry up." One of them orders, blatantly rearranging his gun so it points in my direction. I try to breathe normally, but end up gasping sharply as his fingers dig further into me.

They bundle me into a car, another Peacekeeper waiting inside. The doors lock as soon as I get in.

The usually short journey takes a long time, people and traffic everywhere, blocking the roads. I hardly notice though. I twirl Haymitch's bracelet absently on my wrist as I try not to think about everything.

His face before he turned away. Peeta's tears. Katniss' dress. Johanna, Beetee, Finnick. Seeder, Cecelia, Chaff. Cinna. Rue. The baby.

Inhuman.

Eventually the car pulls up at my apartment block and the new Peacekeeper walks me right up to my front door.

"This building is on lockdown," he says threateningly, looming over me. Very deliberately, he places a hand on his gun. "_You cannot leave your apartment_." He speaks extremely slowly, as if I'm a moron.

He wants a response on my part, but I just stare back, giving him no such satisfaction as I shut the door in his face. I don't care about manners; I'm sick of being treated like a criminal. What have I done? I'm sick of this place.

I wearily make my way to the bedroom, switching on the television as I pass. I remove all traces of the day from my face, and as I change out of my dress, I'm not at all surprised to find small, round bruises already forming on my upper arms.

Finally I go back to the lounge. On the way, I move silently towards the front door, peering out of the little window to confirm my suspicions. The peacekeeper is still right outside.

I sigh, defeated, as I turn my attention to the news programme. The woman on the screen informs me calmly that people must remain in their homes until further notice. We must not panic.

Everything is normal.

At this last statement I surprise myself by laughing shortly. For the first time I can see my ridiculous existence for what it really is.

Sometime later, I come to on the sofa, woken by the ringing phone. I stumble over, grasping for the receiver before I can even consider that it's not him.

It has to be. He promised.

"Haymitch?" I ask immediately. My voice is thick, but I can't tell if it's from tension or sleep. I feel numb.

"Hey sweetheart," he breathes. I feel relief flood over me as I finally get to hear his voice. I just need someone on my side, someone to help me figure out what to do.

It's still dark outside but the television has switched itself off, so I must've been out for a while. "What time is it?" I ask, disorientated.

There's some movement on his end. "Four?" he finally replies, not at all certain. I'm pretty sure he's been drinking heavily all night, but now is not the time to bring that up. The next few days don't look good for any of us and this is just his way of dealing with it. I don't care anyway - he kept his promise to me and, drunk or not, Haymitch is all I have right now.

"You got home alright?" he asks slowly. He's looking for details but I don't know how much I should mention. Is anyone bothering to monitor us right now? It wouldn't surprise me if they are. I don't think I'm being guarded arbitrarily.

"Yeah," I try to sound relieved. "I mean it took a while but the Peacekeepers escorted me the whole way…" I don't know what else to say without outright stating that there is a man with a gun on the other side of my door, ready to shoot me if I try to leave.

"Yeah I don't think it'd be… safe to go back out there," he's so quick on the uptake, "what with all the crowds still around" he adds. I know he gets it.

"No, that wouldn't be a good idea," I hurry to agree.

There's quite a lengthy silence and I find that when I'm not talking, the evening's events play over and over in my head. I need him to distract me. A thought comes to the forefront of my mind, and I remember that I have a question for him.

"What does the mockingjay mean?" I ask. Too late I realise that was probably not the best direction to go in. Still, I'm curious as to how he will respond. He knows something.

I swear I hear him sigh on the other end of the phone.

"Nothing," he finally replies. "I don't think it means anything, it was just a showy costume change." He speaks with such a lack of conviction; he must know I don't buy it. I leave it there though, hoping that if anyone is listening, they deem his slurred words as believable.

"I thought so," I say dismissively.

It's a long time before he finally speaks again. He sounds hollow.

"Katniss and Peeta... they send their love."

It's like I've been hit in the chest. All the air leaves my lungs as I try desperately to avoid the pain again. I've only just managed to get myself under control.

The games start tomorrow. They've caused a lot of trouble for the Capitol. Snow wants them dead.

After the last few days, there's no doubt in my mind that they'll pay for everything ten times over. All he has to do is flick a switch and it'll be finished. They're not coming back this time.

Haymitch and I won't be allowed near each other for fear that we might discuss strategy to help them and I'm pretty much under house arrest at the moment.

"I'm not going to see them again am I?" I ask despairingly.

I almost want Haymitch to lie to me, tell me I'm being silly and there is still a chance. But he's not one to give false hope, and he knows I'm no fool.

"No."

No.

I knew that anyway, but it doesn't help.

I never got to tell them how sorry I am.

I don't know what to say now. There isn't anything really, but I don't want him to go. Chances are this will be the last conversation we have until the next games come around. I doubt I'll be permitted to leave home until Katniss and Peeta are 'dealt with', by which time Haymitch will be on the first train back to District 12, drunk out of his mind.

This will be the worst one to watch, for me and for him. The hardest part and, for the first time, I will be alone throughout it.

"Effie," he starts, unsure. I don't know how long it's been since I last spoke.

"I'm still here," I tell him.

He hesitates.

"You are going to watch the games aren't you?"

"Of course…" I say, not sure what he's getting at. It will be unbearable, but it's not exactly optional; he knows I have to watch it.

I hear him sigh again. I wish I could see him, try to read in his expression what he can't tell me in words.

"Good," he says stiffly. I hear a noise in the background. "I have to go now." He says with a hard voice. I can tell his teeth are clenched.

"Okay," I whisper. "I guess I'll see you next time." My throat is too tight.

There's nothing but silence for a long time. I'm just about convinced he's already hung up, but when he finally speaks, his voice seems too far away.

"Yeah."

Then the line cuts off.

I glance out of the door again before going to bed. There's a different Peacekeeper there now, so I guess they're taking shifts guarding me until the games finish.

This is it then.

I twirl the flame bracelet around and around, hoping it will help me get through the next few days alone.


	3. Torment

Darkness.

For so long that's all I've had for company. At first I hated it, craved some light to illuminate this nightmare. However I have since learned that, with the artificial glow of the hazy filament bulbs, comes pain.

It manifests in many forms; masked strangers with needles, tasers, knives. At first they never entered without some form of torture in their gloved hands. Every day brought new horrors and for so long, that was the only way I could measure time passing.

I had already had cracks. Before I even came here, I'd had doubts about my future, fears that I would be punished - maybe by losing my job or apartment, the people I care about. But never had I imagined a life such as this. Even now, seeing the dried blood on the tiled grey walls, the shackles, the drains. Sometimes just the light alone is enough to hurt me.

I miss real sunlight, colours, the feeling of a breeze on my face. I try to remember how it feels to touch another person's skin. Simple things.

I would long for my freedom, but looking back I can see that I never truly had that. Despite the illusion, every aspect of my life has always been contained, monitored, controlled. I just didn't realise until the last few days before my imprisonment, by which time it was much too late. Only then did I see I was being restricted; once I was effectively a prisoner in my own home, forced to watch Snow's power reign over on screen.

Except it didn't. He lost control.

And that's when they dragged me, alone and bleeding, down into the Capitol's dungeons.

Initially I had tried to argue. When I woke on the hard stone floor, I thought there must've been a mistake. I attempted to reason with my captors, told them through the bars that they didn't need me. That I hadn't done anything wrong.

They just laughed.

I thought I'd lost everything, but it turns out these men were able to take more than just my life. I wanted to be strong, but they stole my dignity and little by little every day, I turned into something else.

Of course I wasn't the only one. Annie Cresta, Johanna Mason, the Avox girl – Lavinia. Thankfully I never saw them, but I heard everything. The desperate begging from those with a voice, the animal shrieks from those without.

I heard the word 'please' most often. I may have said it a few times in the beginning, but not anymore. I suppose I thought they might pity me, but how could I have expected mercy from people who delight in such evils?

I used to hear Peeta as well. His cries wounded me the most. Sometimes they made me observe his tortures. Initially they just questioned him, but when that got boring they stepped things up. I had to sit by and watch as he had his memories messed with and they turned him against Katniss.

As they twisted that lovely boy into a broken, directionless mess.

They interrogated me a lot too. The bracelet, always with the bracelet. Why had I been wearing it? What did I think it meant? Finnick Odair was seen wearing a similar one in the arena; was that significant to me?

The truth is, I had no idea what any of it meant. Since I'd had it made, I assumed it was the only one of its kind, so seeing Finnick wearing one had shocked me. At the time I'd brushed it off as a coincidence, not knowing that it was enough to link me to the rebellion.

I was often asked about that as well, and why I thought I was here. I could've given names - lied to satisfy them - but I knew it wouldn't work. At the end of all of this, what good does it do to play the blame game? They were looking for information that I didn't know, and evidently they already had. They didn't want answers, just enjoyed toying with me. Anyway, it never mattered what I said. It was clear I'd always given the wrong answer and before long, the only sounds I made were yet louder screams as my punishments increased in severity to compensate for my 'lack of co-operation'.

I couldn't stop their poisonous words snaking into my brain though.

The cracks spread, branching into hundreds of fissures across my soul. I thought I knew what it was to be alone, to be scared, but this place brought new definitions of those words. Denial turned to doubt turned to despair and eventually I just stopped responding.

How long will it be before I shatter completely?

Time means nothing anymore, and due to my sentence of solitary confinement, I still have an inordinate amount of time with my thoughts. Despite my best efforts, I frequently find myself trying to answer my captors' earlier questions. Occasionally they show rebel broadcasts, so I now know what the mockingjay stands for. It is a symbol of resistance for the people that are currently fighting the Capitol for justice.

When I'd had the flame bracelet made, I didn't know about any of this, I had just wanted us to look like a team. But how could we have ever been a team when each member was aiming for something so different? Peeta fighting for Katniss to live, Katniss fighting for Peeta to live.

Haymitch.

Fighting for the rebellion all this time. He knew everything.

After a while, I find crueller thoughts creeping into my head. He must've wanted me out of the way, clearly hated me more than I ever could've imagined. Finnick had a copy of the bracelet in the arena and I don't know how, but Haymitch must've given it to him. He's the only person who could have. He knew it would be seen by everyone. He gave me the original, knowing what it meant, and what it could lead to for me. He told me to wear it, never saying why. Made me promise like it would keep me safe.

I thought I could trust him, but after all, I never was able to ascertain if he was being honest with me. That night he comforted me, he didn't mean it, telling me to play my role, but all the time playing his own.

He left me to this.

But two words still echo in my mind.

"_I'm sorry."_

There was one time, one shred of hope, but that too was false. When Peeta was here, I could tell myself that there was still something to yearn for, that somewhere, maybe, I was still in the running for something. I detested hearing him scream, hearing him cry, but at the same time his suffering reassured me. Because I knew that Katniss would never give up on Peeta, never leave him. And sure enough, eventually there was the sound of gunfire, heavy boots as new people stormed the cells. Running, shouting. Frantic commands cutting the dank air. They rescued the victors and I thought foolishly that they might take me too. That maybe someone did care.

But neither side wants me. I came to realise that I'm not significant. Not at all. And with this new understanding, I gave up.

All I wait on now, is the promise of my execution.

As the air gets icier, I hope that maybe it will end soon. I am forced into thicker apparel to ward off the cold, and small lumps of bread are shoved down my throat when I refuse to eat. They no longer go out of their way to inflict pain on me.

It seems the Capitol still wants me alive.

No, not alive.

I am simply enduring.

Breathing.

Conscious until the very last second.

I don't know how many more people are still here like me. There were others - stylists from the Quarter Quell, well-to-do Capitol people that told too many secrets - but most have already been hung. I wonder why it's taking so long for them to get to me.

More and more my existence seems to be focused around things being taken away rather than administered. Light becomes a rarity and my waking hours are spent in much the same way. I wait for food that no longer arrives. Eventually the water disappears too. I think this is it, the day I can finally be free.

But the Peacekeepers never come for me.

It's like I've been forgotten.

I sit patiently for hours, waiting, but still nothing.

I begin to hope that maybe I can just slip away, quiet and unnoticed. Considering how some died, I don't see this as a particularly bad option.

At some point though, an explosion breaks the silence. I listen, almost curiously, to the sounds of rubble and bricks being removed, metal protesting as it is forced open.

Daylight.

Then voices. And not Capitol voices.

They draw closer but I stay still, barely able to breathe. They must be rebel soldiers, here to finish me off.

"I don't think there's anyone down here." A gruff man's voice.

"We were ordered to search the whole place." A woman states. "And besides, why would it be locked up if it wasn't important?"

I hear them move systematically through the level above me, pulling cell doors open and murmuring in disgust. Then footsteps on the stone stairs.

"How many floors are there?" The woman sounds shocked.

"Three more below this," the man replies, deadpan, "but I really doubt there's any point-"

They gasp.

This is it. They've found me and now they're going to kill me. I hope it's quick.

I glimpse up, observing them through the gaps between my fingers. They both wear grey military uniforms, but their guns are slung over their shoulders, torches occupying their scratched hands. The woman has short brown hair and a bloody bandage around one of her arms. She looks about thirty, the bald man beside her probably twenty years older. He has a jagged cut across one side of his face.

"I need a medic down here!" The woman tells her comunicuff. How strange, are they going to give me a lethal injection? Why don't they just shoot me?

The man fixes something on the cell lock and it pops open. He wrenches the door away, striding towards me. Instinctively, I shrink back, alarmed by his outstretched hands. I don't want them to touch me; can't they just let me go? Or is death still more than I deserve?

"What's your name?" He asks in a voice very different to before.

So I'm unrecognisable now. I cover my face, refusing to reply and probably unable to anyway; I haven't spoken in so long. He bends down to me and I draw yet further away, pressing my back against the cold walls.

"It's okay," the woman is here now too, "we're going to help you," she says. I want so badly to believe her, but my longing for comfort is overshadowed by fear. Why would they come to help me? When they find out who I am, they'll change their minds for sure.

"We're from District 13," she continues.

Without thinking, I look up sharply. District 13. That's where they took Peeta for Katniss. That's where Haymitch is.

There's that ghost of hope again, but I beat it down. He left me. He hates me. They could've saved me before. They're not going to help me.

"You're Effie Trinket aren't you," the man states. I glance towards him. Maybe I used to be, but hopefully not for much longer. He sighs and from the corner of my eye, I see him take something from his belt. It's not a weapon though, it's a phone. He raises it to his ear, and a calm voice answers almost immediately.

"Tell him we've found her," the man says wearily "same prison as the victors." A young man in a white uniform appears, but I pay more attention to the soldier and the new, angrier voice coming from his phone. Whoever it is, they don't seem happy about the news.

"Yeah, she's alive…" he glances at me, "just."

More shouting in response. It's probably some high up official, irritated by the prospect of having to dispose of yet another Capitol-bred nuisance.

The soldier sighs. "We'll take her to the nearest hospital, Haymitch, that's all I can promise at the minute."

Haymitch.

I gasp at the mention of his name but then hands come down on me.

Panic erupts and I begin to scream.

There's a needle in my arm.

Consciousness disappears.


	4. Liar

**Hey Hayffiers! So this is the penultimate chapter of Escape, I know it's a bit wordy at first, but believe me it does get interesting - I just had to set the scene.  
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I may be writing another fic of this from Haymitch's POV (I may even do that before I get round to chapter 5 because I really want to get into his mindset first).  
Also, I wanted to say thank you to all the people who have taken the time to actuallly read this, and especially those who reviewed - seriously, it means a lot to me, so thanks :) x**

* * *

It's been a long day watching Katniss' trial, but ultimately worth it, I think. At least now I know she won't be sentenced to death for shooting 'President' Coin. One less thing for me to worry about.

Thankfully I wasn't called to speak today – I don't think I could've coped with that. I didn't really want to be involved anyway; I just wanted to see her safe. However, to do that, I had to come in person, since the cut that makes the television never has any truth in it.

I needed to see this for myself.

But there was another reason why I came here today. As I stand to leave, I look down at the courtroom floor, just to catch a glimpse of him for the last time.

Haymitch Abernathy.

The man now entrusted with watching over Katniss in her 'deranged state'. The man I was stupid enough to put my trust in so many months ago.

The man who saved my life.

At least, that's what they tell me.

Apparently I should be grateful to him and Plutarch. I'm told that once I was imprisoned, they fought tirelessly to keep me alive. They had planned this from day one, making sure I was arrested to stop Coin killing me, making sure the Capitol thought I was a rebel to stop them killing me. I can see why Plutarch would've thought it was a good plan. It was efficient, easy, and kept his hands clean. But Haymitch... I was convinced he thought about me as an individual, not a number. Obviously not. It seems that all they cared about was the end result, and, as long as I came out alive, it didn't matter what I had to go through.

This is the first time I have laid eyes on Haymitch since the interview night. I don't know what I was expecting, but from this distance he looks much the same as before.

I could've seen him sooner, but I didn't let him visit me when I was in the hospital. They said they were trying to make me better, so I decided Haymitch wasn't someone that would help with that. He was persistent at first. Every day the nurses would come with increasingly irate messages from him. I could hear him in the corridors shouting at them. But I always refused.

I was angry with him. But I was also afraid. So afraid of what he might do, or even worse, what he might say. I still am.

I don't even know why he wanted to see me; probably just to yell at me some more, manipulate me. Anyway, eventually he stopped trying. I still have to tell myself that's a good thing. He gave me hope before, and then he took it away. I'm determined not to let him do that again.

However, a small part of me still longs to see him again. And I hate myself for it.

I don't realise I am staring until he glances up suddenly and catches my eye. Damn. I didn't want him to know I was here. I turn to leave, hoping I can escape before he gets the chance to confront me.

I walk at a brisk pace, weaving through the crowd and trying not to push past too many people in my haste. They mutter under their breath all the same, although I suppose I should be used to that by now.

Initially, after my release, I'd been referred to a therapist. At first it did help. Due to my confinement, I've got used to spending a lot of time in my own head. I had to practice conversing normally again. It's not too hard; I've always found it easy to make small talk. However, if I'm not careful, I often find my mind circling back to darker areas.

I thought that maybe with enough willpower I could get some measure of normality back in my life, but I've had to accept that I'll never be exactly the same as before. I can't forget what happened, and, try as I might, the nightmares always come back to remind me.

It doesn't help that ever since I've returned to the public eye, whispers follow me wherever I go. Of course, people are polite enough to my face, but everyone roughly knows my story. To them, I am nothing more than the clueless escort turned damaged woman. Imprisoned by my own people, bone thin, with PTSD and enough scars to put people off; I'm tainted. And because of that, I don't seem to fit anywhere. Both Capitol and District people make a habit of avoiding me, either out of shame or disgust.

To be honest I don't blame them. If I could, I'd avoid me too.

I force my way down to the ground floor, although there is no thinning of the crowd. I would be shocked at how many people are here, but after all, who would want to miss the trial of the girl on fire? Yet one more person ruined beyond repair by others' doings. Of course they want to hear the gossip.

I wonder how many of these people actually know the real Katniss Everdeen.

I navigate the winding hallways, looking for a discreet exit. Maybe I actually can get away without having to speak to him. I'm halfway down the last corridor when a gruff voice demands my attention.

"Effie, wait."

I almost stop at the sound of his voice.

"I don't want to talk to you Haymitch," I say hurriedly. I just need to forget all this and get as far away from here as possible, but for some reason my pace slows. It's been so long since we last spoke.

"And why is that sweetheart?" he asks sarcastically. I know he's just trying to get a rise out of me, but my heart begins to race and my palms grow clammy from distress.

"I'm busy," I try, still walking away.

"Why are you here?" He asks, dropping the sarcasm entirely.

I come to a stop. Maybe if I give him a good enough answer, he'll let me go.

"For Katniss," I say without turning. "I needed to see whether she's… coping."

"Right…" he says slowly. I wish I didn't have to read his expressions to know what he means. I fight the urge to turn around - this is hard enough as it is; I can't look at his face. Those eyes. However, it sounds like he wants to say more… or wants me to say more.

But I can't. I've put this – whatever it is – behind me. If I try to talk this out with him… well I don't know what will happen, but I don't think I want to find out. We've never had a good track record for discussing things civilly, and I'm just not strong enough for it at the moment. I don't know if I ever will be. It's better if I just go.

I make to leave until his voice stops me yet again.

"Tell me why I couldn't visit you," he demands sharply.

I decide to be honest as I realise he's not going to let me dodge his questions. "I didn't want to see you, and I still don't." I say coldly.

"Why not?" There seems to be a note of irritation creeping into his voice.

I sigh, defeated. I want to tell him that it's pointless. _Because you won't understand. Because I know how this is going to go, and I don't want to fight you anymore. _I thought I could leave without doing this, but he seems determined to get it out of me.

"Because I'm angry with you, Haymitch."

There's a long pause. I keep my back turned.

"Why?" he asks in a measured voice.

"If you don't understand that, then I can't help you," I say dismissively. "I have to go."

I'm almost at the door before he replies.

"That's right princess, just turn your back and walk away, same as usual."

I freeze, my hand on the door. I don't want to have a scene with him, but he's trying his best to provoke some sort of response in me, and I can feel my anger intensifying in response.

"What do you mean?" I ask in a careful voice, trying very hard to keep control of myself.

"Effie, look at me," he says, surprisingly gently. I give up and turn to face him, longing and curiosity finally winning out over common sense.

He's leaning against the patterned wallpaper, arms folded, looking arrogant as ever. But there's something else that I can't put my finger on. I allow my eyes to run over him briefly, taking in the details. Like everyone else who has been through this war, he doesn't look too great. There are additional lines around his face - he looks quite a bit older. Tired. By the yellowish tinge to his skin, I would say he's had more than a few drinks since we last met, but he doesn't seem too bad.

I can sense his eyes studying my face in a similar way. I'm wearing my usual clothes today; trying to blend in. I also put on a lot of make-up, hoping it would hide the worst of the effects of the last few months. He looks me up and down, causing me to shift uncomfortably and my heart beats a little faster. I attempt not to be intimidated, but I can't look at him.

"You're dressed the same," he accuses me, frowning.

At this comment, a fire flares up inside me. I've been through so much, come so far; of all the things in the world, why would my appearance be a problem for him?

"What does it matter what I look like?!" I snap.

"Because you're doing what you always do, pretending everything's fine. It shows how little you've changed." He says simply. I actually gasp in shock. How can he say that?!

"_I_ haven't changed?!" I ask incredulously, my voice rising in pitch. He looks like he's about to make another comment but I get there first, letting my anger drive me forward as I tear into him. "What about you? You've done nothing but hide away these last few months. Look at Katniss, Peeta, Finnick. And yes, even me. We all paid some kind of price but you…" I laugh once without humour. "You're exactly the same; still sarcastic, still drinking… still heartless."

I almost regret that last one, but he deserved it. His eyes flash at my outburst, but his face remains calm, unfazed.

"So you think I've had it easy princess?"

I fight the impulse to slap him right across the face. God I hate him! So patronizing even now. I don't think he realises how hard it is for me to control my emotions right now. I told him I was angry, and he's still doing his best to wind me up. I was prepared to be civil, but if this is how he wants it…

"That's how it seems to me," I say. I know I shouldn't push him, but I can't stop myself. All the words I haven't been able to say, all this time. I'm only telling him the truth and he's asking for it anyway.

"You don't care about anyone but yourself," I say icily.

Finally my words seem to get through to him and that self-righteous smirk falls right off his face. However, it is replaced almost immediately with fury.

"You have no idea what I had to do to protect you Trinket" he growls, moving towards me, "no idea what I went through in 13. I know what it's like to be tortured too you know."

I begin to feel nervous as he comes closer, but I'm determined to stand my ground.

"What because they made you sober?" I ask snidely. "So you couldn't bury your problems and run from the guilt?" I have no time for his self-pity; if anything they did him a favour. "It's about time you faced the cold hard truth about who you are." I spit.

I'm half expecting him to rip me apart after what I said, but he just stands there, slowly shaking his head. When he finally speaks, it's in a calm voice.

"Oh I know who I am, I've known that for a long time," he says slowly, "but what about who you are?" He asks. I keep my eyes on the floor, refusing to reply. That is a question I cannot answer and he knows that full well. He sighs deeply. "You don't see it, do you Eff? You've still got your mask on. You're still hiding."

He says it softly, even using my name, but somehow his words manage to make me furious. He's talking like he's disappointed with me and he has absolutely no right.

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm still trying to protect myself?" I ask, my voice growing louder. He looks confused, which only makes me angrier. No matter how I'm behaving, what I'm doing, he has no right to judge it - because it's all his fault. "You know nothing about what's going on in my head, Haymitch. Nothing." I shout, finally breaking. "You can't know how I feel because I barely do!" I'm losing it now, but I can't stop. "It's all a power play! Manipulation and lies and I've had enough! You're just like them!" I yell. "You were controlling me, choosing what was best for me, like it was your decision to make!"

The confusion on his face clears as he realises what I'm saying. "You're comparing me to the Capitol?" He asks, taking a deliberate step towards me. "They took my family, my friends. They took everything from me," he says, his voice shaking. "They took my life." He's close to losing it but I carry on, determined to make him see.

"You did the same thing! You lied to me, took over my life and then abandoned me – decided my fate and left me to live it out. You're exactly like them." I hiss. We are so close now; he's virtually stood on top of me.

"I did what I had to do to keep you alive," he says firmly. "I didn't give you that bracelet for fun; I set this up so you had a chance."

"A chance at what?"

"Living!" he yells.

I flinch at his raised voice, and let my eyes dart up quickly. I drop them when I meet his fiery gaze. How is it fair that he can be so sure of himself, so determined that he did the right thing, when I can't even look him in the eye.

"Sometimes the living part is worse," I whisper.

I wince as soon as I utter the words, convinced he'll be furious, but he freezes. After a few seconds of silence, I glance at his face again. I just catch a glimpse of something, a few flickers of pain. Good. Maybe now he understands.

I take a step back, hoping he is too preoccupied thinking of that night, when he said the same thing. He notices me move though.

"So you'd rather I'd left you to die?" he asks quickly, scowling down at me.

"I'd rather people didn't keep interfering with my life!" I shout, letting my rage overshadow my sadness, my fear. It drives me forward. "They tortured me because of you," I'm screaming now, "they thought I had information because of you!"

"I was doing you a favour," he snarls back. "Do you really think you would be here now if I hadn't-"

"Hadn't what?" I cut him off, "Lied to me?!"

"It was for your own good." His voice is rising to match mine. He looks furious, but I swear he can't be madder than I am. "I couldn't tell you what was going on, it was better that you didn't know anything!"

Oh well that sounds familiar. Is he expecting me to be grateful? Being kept in the dark, fed false information the whole time just to keep me out of the way - he's doing exactly the same thing, and just like them, he thinks it's okay.

I don't want to hear what he has to say. He can't justify what he did.

"I don't care. You threw me into something I had no idea about. I didn't even get a say about my own life!" I yell in his face.

"I barely got a say Effie! Both sides wanted you dead." I recoil at his words but he carries on. "I tried to help you, but… obviously I shouldn't have bothered." He says with malice.

"Maybe not," I say, just as bitter.

There's a long silence as we stand there, glaring at each other. His lips are set in a hard line, his brow knitted together. My eyes skirt around his face, but never meet his. Eventually he sighs deeply.

"Look Effie, I was trying to help you," he says wearily. "This is the real world and someone has to call the shots. You need to wake up sweetheart; move on."

He says the last part in a neutral voice. I honestly can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, but its rich coming from him. How he thinks he's got any right to tell me what to do, I don't know.

"_You're_ telling _me_ to move on… And what would you know about that?" I ask resentfully. He looks hurt, and for a second I feel bad. But then I remember that I'm done feeling sorry for him. He talks like the last few months have been nothing, like I should be able to just skip over them and forget it all. He of all people should understand that that's just not possible.

"I was wrong before," I say quietly. He's not going to like what I'm about to say, but after all, he was the one who came looking for the truth. Now he's dragged it out of me. "You're not the same as the Capitol," I breathe, "you're worse."

"Worse." He repeats slowly, trying to take it in. His face is inches from mine and I can feel his breath on my cheek at his next words. "Please tell me how on earth I could be worse than them."

Finally, I meet his gaze and battle the distress I feel as I stare right into his eyes.

"Because I thought I could trust you," I admit. I had meant to say it forcefully, but my voice breaks as I realise that there's not one person left in my life I can rely on.

I drop my eyes and start to turn away, fighting to hold the tears back. He's got his answers now.

He grabs my wrist though, forcing me to stop and pulling me back. It's like an electric shock. Panic. That's all I can feel.

I spin around, hoping to wriggle out of his grip, but it just tightens.

"Listen to me," he says, but I can't. The fear is all I can think about.

I try to remind myself that this is Haymitch, a man I have known for years. But then I remember that I don't really know him at all.

"Haymitch get off my arm," I demand. My voice rises but there's no power in it. I can't seem to catch my breath.

I can't get away and he moves yet closer, leaning over me.

He's just like them.

He's one of them.

"Just -"

He's going to hurt me.

"No Haymitch, let go of me!" I cry desperately. Everything's a blur and the words just come tumbling out. "You're a bastard and I hate you!" I scream, "_Get off me!_"

He drops my arm abruptly and steps back. I almost regret my words, but cruel as they were, I'm not sure they're untrue.

I glance up to his face. He looks shocked. Maybe now he believes me.

"You really want to know why I didn't let you visit me?" I ask before he has a chance to talk. He just stands there, so I carry on. "Because I was scared."

I meet his eyes. The fire that was there last time, the burning rage and loathing, all that seems to be gone. I can see only hurt.

"You're scared of me?" He asks. I can barely see his face through the blur of tears in my eyes, but there's so much pain in his voice. How can he not believe that after everything I've been through? I'm afraid of a lot of things now. I never thought I would be frightened of Haymitch, but I have learned the hard way that he is damaging.

I know he is looking at me but I daren't meet his eyes. I can't. He hurt me in a way I never thought he could.

"You did this to me." I confess slowly. My legs are shaking so badly I can barely stand up, but I have to get away. Now.

However, just as I make it to the door, he manages to tear my world down one more time.

"I'm sorry Effie."

The pain is searing, like a knife in my chest. Oh how I want those words to be true. But I can't believe him – not again.

"Liar," I whisper.

The tears fall freely as I turn away for the last time.


End file.
